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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000592">Hooked on a feeling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna_kala/pseuds/Arianna_kala'>Arianna_kala</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>When you hold me in you’re arms so tight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arguing, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Coming Out, Fights, Ian’s 19, Injured Ian Gallagher, Injured Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mickey likes to say fuck, Mickey’s 21, Protective Mickey, Telekinesis, angst with happy ending, heat wave, light homophobia, mental health, powers, shameless swearing, shitty 80’s music</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:36:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna_kala/pseuds/Arianna_kala</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian knew Gallagher’s and Milkovich’s where more or less the same, though each family would rather take a foot to the teeth than admit it.</p><p>Ian and Mickey’s lives get a little messed up when they get caught out back the old  Millfeet sugar factory by some guys in hazmat suits.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher &amp; Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>When you hold me in you’re arms so tight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Or as I like to call it irony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Before anything I’d like to address there is light homophobia in this fic and will be through out the series! Along with a few slurs here and there, to try and capture the characters best I could. Feed back is welcomed, more than anything! </p><p>This is my first fic for this fandom! I’m sure this might not be to everyone’s taste but I’m hoping a few of you will stick around for the journey! </p><p>Sadly I’m doing this solo so any mistakes are my own, if you have any feed back I’d love to hear it Any ideas on where the series is going is welcomed as well :) </p><p>Hope you stick around to see what Micky and Ian get up to! Leave a comment and a kudo if you enjoyed, many thanks &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ian knew Gallagher’s and Milkovich’s where more or less the same, though each family would rather take a foot to the teeth than admit it. Both got stuck with dead beat Parents, broke as shit and a cluster-fuck of unneeded drama on a daily basis. The lot of them struggling to make ends meet in the ghetto. Pathetic really. There was one thing that the hoard of kids had in common and it was that they had to fend for them selfs. Terry’s a bastard, a woman beater, a kid fucker, but he’s terry so he gets away with it like he’s just pocketed some candy from the Kash and Grab. His wife Mary dead, long forgotten.</p><p> </p><p>‘Stay out of their shit and they’ll stay out of ours’ was a common thing Lip drilled into their heads.</p><p> </p><p>Frank on the other hand had the Gallagher’s in a vice, throwing them left and right into different shit every day. Between the constant drugs and alcohol in his system he was as reliable as Fiona’s  relationship with well—any man. A constant drain in their lives, of money, time, sanity. Monica wasn’t much better when she was around, false promises and hope left in her dust. </p><p> </p><p>Long story short, it was hard to come by a stable family around these parts.</p><p> </p><p>                               ＊＊＊</p><p> </p><p>Ian may only be 19 but he’s not stupid, could swear he’d came out the womb street smart. He’s Southside born and raised, became headstrong when he was old enough to realize Fiona and Lip were children raising children. </p><p>So Ian’s really stuck on how he’s got Mickey fucking Milkovich on his tail.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be heading out now Linda, are you sure you’re good to finish stacking these last few? Really won’t mind helping.” He shrugs, the summer had started off with a dirty heat wave, cooler had been raided and the air-con had been rattling non stop. He know’s he looks like shit, stripped down to his vest and sweat clinging to it like he’d marched ten mile up hill.</p><p>“Honestly Ian it’s fine, I called you in early today so you’ve already done a little over time.” She’d huffed smile tight, ripping open one of the last few boxes he’d carried in from the back. “Head out, sure you have some party to be getting to with this weather.” Ian chuckled at that, if anyone was doing anything in this heat they’d be mad. It’s not strayed far from over seventy degrees the past week and it showed no signs of stopping.  He’s glad the neighborhood kid Linda hired showed up on time to relive him. The kid, Jonny, gave a wave as he took his place behind the register, pulling out his phone. God was he in for some shit.</p><p>“Call me if anything changes.” Ian grabbed a beer from the fridge on his way by. “Back doors locked!” Slamming two bucks onto the counter Ian had dashed out the door without waiting for Linda’s response. And he’d regretted it immediately.</p><p> </p><p>The heat had hit his face like a truck.</p><p> </p><p>Ian wanted to be home, the walk was only twenty minutes but no doubt the heat would make it seem longer. It was quite for the south side, not half as many kids running around as he would have assumed. It made sense, if they didn’t have the pool out back Ian would be reluctant to let his lot outside in this heat. The sun creating a constant buzz in the air. The day almost over, but the sun was at its peak. That’s what Ian loved about summer, the early mornings and later nights.  </p><p> </p><p>He’d had barely made it two blocks from the Kash and Grab before he had an open beer in one hand and the end of his vest crumpled in the other, fanning himself. His phone had pinged, reaching into the front pocket of his shorts he smiled,</p><p> Debbie had been having trouble with meth heads wanting to use the pool for god knows what the past week, Himself and Lip had done their best to ward them off. Ian remembers chasing them multiple times, once with a crow bar and another with a shiv, both attempts scared the small group off but that was about as far as they ran with it. The last thing Ian needed was for him and Lip getting put away because they busted up a group of addicts. </p><p>‘Two down one to go.’</p><p>Ian laughed through his nose at the blunt message.</p><p>‘Pools all set for when you get home.’
[Load Attachment]</p><p>Heaven as far as Ian was concerned. His shoulders slumped as he responded.</p><p>‘Make sure Liam wears his floaties.’</p><p>He wasn’t expecting a photo of Fiona and Debbie flipping him the bird in response, but it sufficed.</p><p> </p><p>Between being far to engrossed in his beer and petty selfie battle with his sisters someone slams into him, knocking the two of them up the floor, his back smacking onto the boiling concrete and bottle smashing beside him. </p><p>“What the fuck.” </p><p>Shit. His eyes squeezed shut, he knew that voice.</p><p>“What the actually fuck, fucken’ carrot top lookin’ ass can’t see where he’s goin? Huh.’”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>Ian tensed, hesitantly opened his eyes and tilted his head up to a quint. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.</p><p>“What in the hell you think you’re doin’ throwing you’re self all over me dude. I don’t know what you think you are—“</p><p>“Throwing myself all over you? I was looking at my phone!” His voice rose. Pushing himself up, pool long forgotten, Ian got a good look at the guy. Mickey Milkovich. And three other dudes backing him. He looked like shit, pale as anything, shirtless and a burnt strip right across his nose. </p><p> </p><p>It was like something in Ian’s mind pinged, he’d been friends with Mandy before he hit puberty, meeting up to sneak into movies or dine and dash in their younger teen years, being friends with her was a thrill. Though avoiding her hoard of brothers became a necessity, between Lip’s warnings and Mandy’s countless stories of when she had to sit in the backseat of the car, waiting for them to drug runs, gay bashes, ‘collect’, what ever the fuck that meant. Iggy and Colin were the ones to watch out for, always had guns shoved down their pants and knives down their socks. All he knew was that the Milkovich brothers where more than a few weed dealers. Mandy had told him stories of how dangerous the two were together, Mickey on the other hand was a whole different situation.</p><p>They’d crossed paths plenty of times, done some stuff Ian wasn’t exactly proud of drunk and high but that stayed between him and Mickey. Sometimes they hung out at the dugouts, Ian really couldn’t complain. When out and about the south side he treated him like the other Milkovich brothers, avoid at all costs and when you do cross paths, keep you’re head down. It worked for them. Mainly for Mickey, but Ian wasn’t risking what they had for some hand holding.</p><p> </p><p>“Really? Looked a lot like you was trying to get yourself all over me Red.” He turned to elbow a blonde guy on his right, muttering something under his breath. “I ain’t like that, ain’t no pillow bitter.” He stood firm as if Ian was taking this bait, his fist reaching out to grab the front of Ian’s vest. Mickey looked tense he also sounded out of breath, like he’d been running. Maybe that’s why they’d knocked each other so hard. Would also explain why he stunk. His eyebrows raised high and jaw set hard. “Quit looking at me like that would you, fucking bastard.”</p><p>“Pillow biter?” Ian muttered out of shock more than anything. “Dude I just wanna get home, I don’t want to be any close to you’re sweaty shit than I have to be.”</p><p>“You gonna regret that string bean.” </p><p>“Iggy, said I got this.” Mickey squinted for a second as if contemplating what his next move would be. It was like Mickey was waiting for the three slums up his back to look and listen. Within an instant Ian had a mouth full of knuckles, Mickey had him sprawled up the floor again. </p><p>“Is you’re brain fucking over heating? What the shit Mickey.” Reaching for his lip and wincing. “Trying to look big in front of you’re band of merry men?”</p><p>“Fucking merry men? Shut up Gallagher—“ Mickey was hovering over him now. “It’s to hot for this shit, you think-You think Im stupid?” </p><p>“Stupid? Stupid! You just fucking busted my lip!” Ian was up again shoving Mickeys shoulder, making the shorter man stumble. Ian knew he was tall, built to tower over most but when you’ve got what he assumed was Mickey, Iggy, Collin and a random goon ready to beat you’re ass, he felt small as fuck.</p><p>“What the fuck does you being stupid have to do with anything?” He continued. “You’re the guy walking around shirtless! You gonna bust every dudes lip that bumps into you Milkovich?”</p><p>“I’m just making it clear that I ain’t taking no shit, kay?” He insisted tightly, lips barley moving as he spoke, Mickey’s hands shaking in their pre-made fists. “Now if you could do me a favor and shut you’re ginger munching mouth up We’ve got shit to do, places to be.” He sighed, a hand smeared down his face as he took a few hesitant steps back. </p><p> </p><p>Now at this point Ian knew he could let it go, keep his head down and be on his way home. But instead he smiled. Big and toothy. Wolffish even.</p><p>“No worries,” hiking up his shorts, “you’re not my type anyways.” His chest puffed out as he walked past Mickey, making sure their shoulders bumped as he weaved through the small group of boys.</p><p>“You what mumbles?” Ian all but laughed, not bothering to turn around. He could imagine the expression on the stubby fuckers face, hopefully went all red in front of his pack of deadbeats. Although he did repeat his words again, louder this time, before picking up a jog. He could out run these idiots in his sleep.</p><p>“Don’t fucking think so.” Mickey said sharply. In a flash of a movement he set on him like a snake, brainy bunch in tow.</p><p>If Ian’s being completely honest he’s not really stuck on how he’s got Mickey fucking Milkovich on his tail.</p><p> </p><p>For someone as stocky as Mickey he sure could run. Ian had broke into a full blown sprint not long after he took off, jumping a few fences and loosing three of the four guys on his ass. Just so happened that the sunburnt meat-head was the only one that hadn’t given up. </p><p> </p><p>His tank top is wet, face is wet, beads of sweat dripping down his back and his legs are starting to give. Ian reminds himself to breathe as he rounds another corner, the sound of their footsteps smacking the ground is ringing loud. Both of them where panting like dogs, Ian could hear Mickey’s labored inhales and managed to whip his head around to see how drenched the dude was himself. He was expecting Mickey to just yell a fair few slurs at his back and let bye gone’s be bye gone’s, but no. Pretty sure Mickey was doing this to make a point. ‘Don’t fuck with me’ </p><p> </p><p>Ian knows if he makes another block there’s a gate that’ll come up on his left, has a giant hole in it, it’s surrounded by over grown weeds and shit. One of those things that stay hidden until their, in plain sight. It’s the back entry to the old sugar factory that shut down years ago, Ian knows that place like the back of his hand, used to sneak in with Lip as a kid. He could totally loose Mickey there, hide out if he needed too.</p><p>“Would you stop fucking running and just let me beat the shit out of you for fuck sake.” It comes out pathetically, more like a beg than a threat. “You’re just making things worse for you’re self Gallagher!” Mickey winces after that, his hand clutching his side. He doesn’t fall behind but he does cuss out the stitch under his rib cage. </p><p> </p><p>Ian skirts a corner, changing course when he sees a sign ‘Millfeet sugar’ coming into view. A cheesy plaster board hung on the back of a brick wall, a few over grown trees growing up its side. Head straight he smirks, “you still back there Mick?” He’d meant to come across cocky instead he sounds like shit, shocks himself more than anything. </p><p>“I’m gon’ ring you’re neck.” It’s muttered and Ian would have defiantly missed it if he wasn’t busy looking for the busted portion of the fence him and his brother had found years ago. He knows Mickey’s made pace, caught up to him, by the time he’s dragging himself through the small rusted gap in the metal. “The fuck you doing Matchstick? Just take the fucking beating at this point, pansy ass.” Threat sounding all but tired.</p><p>“You could you know, just fuck off, you started this over nothing.” Ian crouches and uses a near by branch to rip himself through, his not so white vest catching on some rusty part of the fence. “Seriously just tell the guys you were with you rocked my shit.” He says lightly, takes a much needed deep breath and turns.</p><p>He doesn’t expect to see Mickey following him. Repeating Ian’s movements with less ease, he dives head first through the gap and steadies himself on the same branch Ian did. The floors uneven, a mix of cracked cement and gravel, so when Mickey’s foot lands wrong he swears under his breath. “Can’t do that man, gotta actually beat you to a pulp. Maybe more, then I’ll fuck off.” He stands straight, chest still heaving taking a moment to look at his surrounding’s. Mickey’s mouth twists into a frown as his hand comes up to swipe the corner of his lip. “Now are you gonna dash again? Or we just gon’ get it over with, this shit smells like it’s got poison ivy sprouting somewhere and last’ thing I need is to be covered in a rash.” Desperation painted his face, Mickey motioned to his still bare chest, finally looking Ian in the eye.</p><p>“You expect me to take a beating I don’t actually need because you’ve got no shirt on?” Ian grumbled it was light, but agitated. Mickey’s eyebrows raised and his chin jerked out as if to say ‘obviously’<br/>
“I don’t think so man, give it a rest.” Taking a few steps back, an earthy smell whipping him, the air becoming muggy. He squared his shoulders. “We both look like shit and I’ve got a pool back home calling my name. It’s too hot for this Mickey stop acting like a dick and call it quits.” Ian’s voice leveled. He assumed he would have lost him at this point, though Mickey’s commitment did impress him, he wasn’t in the mood for playing cat and mouse anymore.</p><p>“Well fuck me Shakespeare, nice speech.” It was loud and sarcastic. Ian arms slapped to his sides and his face dropped, if his last punch was anything to go by Mickey was in the mood to quite literally knock him sparko’. Ian had taken another step back, he spluttered, his mouth opened for a retaliation but nothing came out. Ian heard his phone ping from his pocket again, but he ignored it, simply giving a very aggressive middle finger, arm out stretched and brows drawn in. Ian knew he looked stupid but it somehow felt right for the petty situation the two of them were in.</p><p> </p><p> Mickey looked confused for a second before snorting, he swatted a branch out the way before stepping forward and giving two respective fuck you’s back. His breathing finally even, Ian took that as a white flag.</p><p> </p><p>Which was stupid. Very fucking stupid.</p><p> </p><p>Mickey was flying at him, arms outstretched and grabbing his shoulders. Ian could have sworn Mickey actually growled, the two of them flying backward, Ian’s feet slipping on some weird green shit. Mickey was no light weight, winding Ian on impact. “Jackass!”</p><p>He would have definitely basked in the feeling of deja-vu if it wasn’t for the fact they didn’t hit loose gravel, or concrete, they fell through a shallow hedge and just tumbled. Hard and fast.  </p><p>“Fuck.” Mickey had a hand in Ian’s hair, gripping hard as they began to barrel roll.<br/>
“Fuck!” He repeated, more urgent this time his head ducking into Ian’s neck as the speed started to pick up.</p><p>Both of them grunting in turn.</p><p>“Stop! Try and fuckin’” Ian cut himself off, trying to get his arms out from under the shorter man, to grab god knows what. Anything to make the world stop spinning.</p><p>“Fuck you Gallagher!” It had no bite behind it, more of a slight tremor. Ian’s eyes shut when his knee hit what he assumed a  loose rock with a crack. He let out a yelp, his breath going ragged. That fucking hurt. Another roll had his teeth gnashing.  In an instant he had hands on him, Mickey grabbed the front of his vest, managed to flattened his back out on the steep slope and pulled Ian to lay on his front.</p><p>“Was that you’re fucking foot?” They where still moving, though slower and upright this time. </p><p>“No asshole, was my knee. Dig you’re feet in.” Ian ground out. “It’ll slow down our momentum.”</p><p>“Momentum? Stop with the big words Red.” Mickey huffed digging his heels into the ground, face taught. “The fuck you doing leading me to this shit hole.” He began to sound defensive, a lot like earlier.</p><p>“Tried to loose you about four blocks back, thought this might throw you off.” They where coming to a steady halt, his knee was throbbing, but he knew from experience it wasn’t broken. Was defiantly gonna leave a killer bruise.</p><p>“Sure. Whatever.” Mickey sighed, eyes darting anywhere but Ian’s. “You gonna be good to flop on you’re back and slide the rest of the way or do I need to cradle you’re ass the full time, firecrotch.” Bite gone, he somehow still managed to sound brutish. Ian rolled his eyes, his head angling to look below and then above. </p><p>“We don’t have that far to go, might just lounge on you a while longer.” He finished with a wink, earning him a jab to the gut, Mickey practically threw him off his chest and into the muddy shit beside him.</p><p>“You realize how fuckin’ faggy you sound?” Mickey’s tone was light, his hand still gripping Ian’s bicep. Ian did laugh at that, he wanted to say ‘would make sense’ but he bit his tung. Knew he wouldn’t be able to escape a beating in this state. Mickey continued, “You look like shit by the way.” </p><p>“And you look a picture you’re self, the dirt really frames you’re face.” Ian chuckled, his side aching. They’d came to a stop their nails digging into soft dirt under them, as if to reassure they wouldn’t be sent rolling again. “Least you can say I put up a good fight. Make up some elaborate story for you’re brothers and who ever the fuck you were dragging around.” Both of them got their fair share of bumps and cuts on the way down, Mickey had a small nic on his forehead Ian didn’t bother asking if it hurt.</p><p>Mickey sat up nodding thoughtfully, knees bent so his arms could rest on them and looked down at Ian.</p><p>“You mean Burny? He loves a scrap. Gonna have to help me come up with a decent story.” Smirk gracing his face. “He likes all the shitty details.” </p><p>“Suppose it’s only fair, you saved me from busting a second knee cap.” Sitting himself up to level with the other man, gripping his knee and giving it a once over. “Though I would love to know what happened to you’re shirt, bet you’ve got a lovely grass stain up you’re back.” Ian let his leg drop body lax, as he took in his surrounding’s, this was definitely the back of the old sugar factory. Just in a shittier shape than he remembered, place had more greenery growing then the full Southside put together. Surprised he didn’t see any smokers hovering, seemed like the perfect spot for that kind of stuff. </p><p>“You’d thought this shit would be dried out  with the heat, huh?” Mickey spoke dumbly. Hands scooping up some dirt, flinging it in Ian’s direction.</p><p>He flinched of course, not that it helped him dodge the clump of mud that landed in his lap. “That you’re attempt of changing the subject? Sorry Mick, but if you want help with a heart retching story, I’m gonna need to know what happened to you’re shirt.” </p><p>“Ok hot shot, if we’re gonna be civil here, it’s Mick-ey. No Mick, you know I hate that. Cut it out right now. And also fuck you. Can’t black mail me. I was meant to pulverize you not read you bed time stories.” </p><p>“Oh come on, it’s-“ Ian reaches for his phone, his watch in the soup dish back home, “quarter past seven, perfect timing!” Mickey’s eye brows raise as he’s about to respond but instead his hand comes up to cover Ian’s mouth. ‘Do you ever shut up?’ Gaze darting to the bottom of the slope their really not that far from it, his head tilts ever so slightly to the left. “What? See something?” Ian mumbles, grabbing Mickey’s wrist to move his hand. He cranes his neck slightly, becoming more alert. His back going tense as he tries to look over a totaled car, it’s rusted like most stuff they’ve come by around here resting on its side.</p><p> </p><p>“You hear that?” Mickey whispers. He sounds unsure, waiting for Ian to agree. </p><p>So he shuts up and they listen.</p><p>And there it is, Mickey wasn’t just hearing shit. Ian can make out two voices, both men but one much deeper than the other.</p><p>“We gotta get out of here, they see us, gonna think we’re fuckin’ or some shit.” Mickey spits it out hushed but fast. Already getting to his feet, dragging Ian up with him. Ian winces, his knee still tender. “Just head out the way we came.” He’s really leaving no room for argument, but Ian stands firm, leaning forward an inch.</p><p>“Shh. Just-just listen for a sec.” </p><p>They sound anxious, voices loud but definitely worried.</p><p> </p><p>“He can’t find out, cant we just scoop this shit up? Like come on it can’t be to hard.”</p><p>“Scoop this shit up? Scoop it up! You pea brained fuck, it went into the fucking water! We ain’t in these haz-suits in this heat for no god damn reason!” A loud splash accompanies his response. “Gonna have to call HQ they won’t be happy, but at least this place is like desecrated you know?”</p><p>“Dress-wait no, desagrated? Empty just say empty Darryl, fuck sake. You know I’m dyslexic!”</p><p> </p><p>Mickey snorts, grabs Ian’s shoulder and pulls him back. “This is funny and all but they sounds like they got shit to do and we gotta go.” Twisting his body he begins to clamber uphill. “Gallagher come on, I ain’t playin’ I’ll buy you a burger or sumthin’ move you’re ass.” Mickey sounds kind of freaked out, but also very much like Fiona when she wants him to listen.</p><p>Ian sighs but slowly turns to face Mickey.<br/>
“I mean I’m not one to turn down free food and I’m certainly not turning down free food from a Milkovich, of all people.” Their still talking in quiet whispers. Ian cracks a joke about how ironic this whole situation is and Mickey whistles out his nose. “What the fuck you think they doin in this old shithole anyway?”</p><p>“Fuck if I know man. Sounds serious.”</p><p>And that’s when Mickey steps on a loose patch of something and falls. He yelps, Loud and swears. “Mother fucker!” And then it’s quiet.</p><p> </p><p>Too quite. </p><p> </p><p>“Who’s there?!” It’s was one of the voices, Darryl maybe? It comes from fuck knows where they can’t see them and they couldn’t see Ian and Mickey, but now they defiantly will. Footsteps sounding louder, not wasting time on scoping them out, before Mickey’s back on his feet.</p><p>“Gammy fucker couldn’t  stay quite could you?” </p><p>“Ian man, you’ve got some cheek, on about being quiet you yappy bastard.” Mickey sounds weird, his hands inching closer to Ian’s face, clenching. Ian likes how Mickey speaks with his hands. “We won’t make it to the top of this thing, their close. Head for the car and shut you’re mouth for the sake of both of our lives.” He’s moving without another word, dirt slipping from under them, making the short trip down hill shorter. Mouth clamped shut, Ian’s not ashamed to say he’s up Mickey’s ass. They make it to the chunk of metal just in time, skirting on their knees until their backs are resting on the underside of the car, footsteps ring loud from the other side of the four wheeler along with some threats. Mickey sighs - a bit to loud for Ian’s taste, leads to him swatting the older man’s  shoulder, with an exaggerated index finger held to his lips, ‘shh’ .</p><p> </p><p>“We know someone’s out here! Just come out and you won’t die!”</p><p>“Mingus if you don’t shut up you’ll be the one that’s dead.”</p><p>“Oh ok my bad why don’t you try to fix this situation, Daryl?” There’s a moment of silence. </p><p>“Look, we know you’re out there, just make yourselves known and this will be a whole lot easier.”</p><p> </p><p>Mickey raises to peek over the side of the car, getting a good look at the two culprits. Kneels back down and elbows Ian, nodding in the direction of the voices. “We can make a run for it get to the front of this hell hole and make a dash for the Alibi. It’s not far from this part of town. You think you can make it with you’re knee?” Ian nods, like a lot and Mickey waists no time launching himself round the front of the car, grabbing Ian’s hand in his haste. “Yellow suit wearing cunts.” </p><p>“Mickey the fuck.” Their in plain sight now, completely in the open, running past the two guys in hazmat suits—those are definitely hazmat suits, oh fuck and their yelling, running after them.</p><p>“Don’t stop until I say so Red, hear me, don’t give a flying fuck if you’re tired.”</p><p>“A-ok with me on that one Short cake.” Mickey gives him a hard side eye but doesn’t stop running even as the ground starts to puddle with water. Their hands keeping them connected as they close in on the upcoming corner, water knee deep, only slowing them down slightly.</p><p>“Get back here! Oi!” They yell other stuff but if Ian’s being honest he doesn’t heat it,  to focused on the fact that,</p><p>a) Mickey actually grabbed his hand, is holding his hand.</p><p>And b) his adrenaline is fucking sky high and his heat beat is loud in his ears, everything sounds like he’s underwater.</p><p>Ian wasn’t completely sure there was a way out, he wasn’t going to mention that to Mickey, he seem quite happy thudding his way through the fucking sewage water. It felt disgusting, he had shorts on for Christ sake. </p><p>They passed a black car, way to nice to be in this shitty neighborhood, “North siders?” Ian muttered, more to himself than anything.</p><p>“You’re brothers not gonna ask where you been?” Ian asked in a huff. He didn’t want to look at his phone, last time he’d checked it was over an hour ago and that was telling his Deb’s he was on his way home.</p><p>“What? No? Now’s not the time to be wondering if my family gives me some thought.” They slowed down, eyeing a tall brick wall, there was a black gate bolted into it, that was built like some prison shit so Ian ruled that out immediately. </p><p>“Give me a boost and I’ll pull you up.” </p><p>“Give you a boost? How’d I know you won’t ditch me, Gallagher.” It was hurried, both their heads turning to look back, the dudes in yellow suits were moving in fast.</p><p>“I’m not that big of a dick Mickey!” Ian clasped the top of the wall as he was hoisted up by his calf’s, “You also promised me a burger, think I would forget that?” </p><p>“What ever you leprechaun looking freak! Pull me up.” Ian did with ease, grabbing Mickey’s hands tight and hoisting him high enough, his bent knees touched down on the wall.</p><p>“I’ll jump, catch you, we run got that?”</p><p>“Catch me? Feel like a princess, Mickey!”</p><p>“Shut up! Last thing I need is you’re knee fucking up our get away.”</p><p>The two of them hop a brick wall and their out in the clear, don’t stop though, heading for Carnaby Street.</p><p>Their hands had dropped, no longer intwined. </p><p>“Mickey that shit smelt. Like what if this don’t wash out, I liked these shorts.”</p><p>“Shut up I’ve been wanting you to trash those things since last year.” They laugh tackling each other by the neck. The cool air beginning to linger helping them keep a decent pace. </p><p>“You think they’re gonna follow us?”</p><p>“Dressed like that? Fuck no. Get shot soon as old Man Shackles sees um’” Mickey smiles, big and Ian hopes genuine. “Use them for target practice.”</p><p> </p><p>(“You are gonna go get a shirt before we head to the bar right, Mickey? Mickey!”)</p><p> </p><p>They bust through the doors of the Alibi not even twenty minutes later, Mickey first. He’s cussing out Ian before the redhead makes it to any other patrons eye-line. “Told you, you had it coming fuck face, next time know when to shut up and walk away.</p><p>Kev stands to attention, hollering about splitting things up.</p><p> </p><p>They smile slyly from opposite ends of the bar. Both smelling like shit.</p><p> </p><p>                               ＊＊＊</p><p> </p><p>“Check the cameras. We just need enough on them to get a good enough description.” He throws Mingus a note pad, “Hair color, build, clothes. Anything is better than nothing, you hear me.”</p><p>“Yeah yeah, On it.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Whoops</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carl was stupid. Nothing more to add to the statement, he was stupid but he was Carl so the Gallagher’s expected nothing less. </p><p>‘How do you fall from a fire escape, this early in the fucking day, Carl?!’ </p><p>Had Fiona traipsing him to the free clinic at ten thirty on a Saturday morning, she was to say the least, pissed. Between the heat and the actual fall Carl’s arm had doubled in size within the hour and the fact that Lip was currently ‘fixing’ the Gallagher’s shit show of a car, had Fiona pleading to Kev. It worked, not so much because of his sisters begging but more the fact that half of Carl’s upper body looked like a dead lifter. Dude took one look at the kid and yelled,</p><p>“Aw god man, why-how? That shit looks like you’ve been rough n’ tuggin with one arm and one arm only for a couple decades.” Not saying he didn’t ask for anything in return. Kevin wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity when he saw one. Ian got roped into checking inventory for the Alibi later that day. Free labor.</p><p>He wasn’t gonna complain, they had working air conditioning.</p><p> </p><p>“For the love of fuck would you turn that shit down?”</p><p>“Are you gonna clean this bomb sight up? No? Then I think I get to listen to my music, if I’m the one picking up you’re busted socks off of the floor.” Ian laughed, turning down the speaker slightly (the footloose soundtrack was a classic, Lip just didn’t have it in him to admit it.) Looking up to hold eye contact with his older brother. “Shut up and eat you’re cereal you big balled fuck.”</p><p>“No one asked you to man.” Lip snarled, spoon jammed in his mouth, clacking against his teeth. </p><p>“Fuck you Lip. Seriously.” Ian dumped the basket full of dirty laundry from under his arm on-top of the washer. “You need to get off you’re ass at some point today and fix the fucking car we have sat outside.”</p><p>“In this heat? I’ll pass.” Lip mumbled, Ian huffed loud and exaggerated. Pulling out his phone after it vibrated one to many times in his back pocket.</p><p> </p><p>The oldest of the two stood, rounding the table. “If this is about Linda laying you off a few more days because of the new kid she’s roped in, don’t let it get to you.” Lip took a few more mouthfuls of his breakfast before he chucked the bowl in the sink. “It’s summer, you should be happy you get to chill out you know. Squirrel funds not looking to bleak this year. Don’t need you over working yourself.”</p><p>“I’m not over working myself.” Ian retaliated, half heartedly, Mickey had text him. He tried not to show how giddy he was. The two of them hadn’t spoke for almost a week. Their paths not crossing since they split at the bar, Mandy told Ian that Terry had dragged him, along with the rest of her brothers, out on a drug run. Leaving Mandy alone at her place for the unforeseeable future, Ian made sure she joined the Gallagher’s for dinner most nights. Made sure she was safe.</p><p> </p><p>Mickey, staying true to character was short and to the point.</p><p>‘Need to talk to u.’</p><p>‘Meet me t dugouts sevn.’</p><p>‘Brng beer.’</p><p> </p><p>Ian typed out a quick response, </p><p>‘Can’t counting kegs for Kev later.’</p><p> </p><p>Ian’s head whipped up when Lip continued talking. “You’re cleaning. On a Saturday morning,” he said pointedly. “You’re over compensating and you know it dude, take a breather—and you’re meds.” Lip finished, tad sterner than the rest of his argument. “These ones seem to be doing you wonders, but you have to take them with food, dumb ass, and you have yet to put shit to you’re mouth.” Arm flinging out to point at Ian.</p><p>“Thanks for the wise words darlin’ dew-drop, but Im pretty sure I’ve got it covered.” </p><p>Mickey had replied, with a simple, ‘ergent’, fuck knows what could be so urgent for Mickey to actually be texting him. He always insisted he wasn’t big on talking to Ian through his phone.</p><p> </p><p>Ian remembers the two of them laying on their backs passing a smoke at some point last summer, he mentioned how much easier meeting up would be if they could just send a text. Mickey had gone quiet for a while, and mumbled something about how he actually liked to talk to people in person.</p><p>He’d turning to him, looked Mickey in the eye and laughed until his jaw hurt. </p><p> A shitty excuse.</p><p>Ian knew it was just because the asshat couldn’t spell for shit.</p><p> And the unquiet possibility that someone other than Mickey would be the one to see their conversation. They had a system, if you could even call it that. Ian normally just waited until Mickey tracked him down and then they’d fuck off.</p><p>Although, Mickey didn’t put up a fight when Ian asked for him to hand his phone over. He saved his number under Big booby whore. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not playing nurse, Ian. Just want what’s best for you. Even if that is shoving a three day old chocolate donut down you’re neck with a side of lithium.” Lip snorted grabbing Ian by the neck, pulling his younger brother down to his level, in a stiff headlock. His knuckles ruffling the red hair on the stubborn boy’s head. </p><p>Ian groaned as he raised his hand from his side, behind his back, to grip at Lip’s buzz cut. “Will you at least see why the fans are playing up? Had a headache past few days, think I got heat stroke or some shit.”</p><p>“You been drink enough water? Fan won’t help you’re insides from frazzling you know.” Lip said sarcastically, dropping Ian to rummage through the laundry. “Half this shit isn’t even mine. These are Mandy’s?” Pinching a pair of pants at their hem.</p><p>“She asked about those, said I didn’t know where the fuck they were, gonna have to blame it on you.” Faking a sympathetic glance at his brother. “‘Oh Mandy! Lip, he was all over these jeans! I could barley pry them out off his grip’” Ian bellowed, cackling loud and hearty. Earning him a quick thwack from his brother. By the time Ian had calmed down, Debbie had made her way down the stairs and A-lined for the fridge.</p><p>“You guys need to learn that some people like to, well I don’t know? Like to lay in?” Grouchy as ever She unscrewed the orange juice and downed the remains of what ever was in the carton. “I’m a growing woman I need my beauty sleep.”</p><p>Both boys groaned, attempting to talk over her with affirmations.</p><p>“Seriously, grow up.” Debbie sighed, dropping two pop tarts into the toaster. “Any one heard from Fiona, about Carl’s arm? She took Liam I bet you both ten bucks each they eat out. All we have is bread and spoilt milk. We’re gonna starve.”</p><p>“Stop complaining Deb’s I’m gonna head to the store when I’m dressed.” Lip insisted. Flinging Mandy’s jeans in Ian’s direction. “Drop those off, last thing I need is Becky thinking I’m fucking someone on the side.” Heading for the stairs, stained t-shirt in hand.</p><p>“Becky? That what the black haired chick s‘called?” Ian mumbled. “I can’t anyways. Gotta finish cleaning this shit hole and then head down to the Alibi to do inventory for Kev.” Ian looked down, his thumbs fidgeting with the pocket of his overshirt. Knowing he was the cause of Lip halting mid-stride, he leveled his gaze.</p><p>Apparently Debbie didn’t sense the small bout of tension. Instead she raced to the toaster after hearing it ping and flung the pop tarts onto a plate. “You guys gotta stop dragging people back here, between Mandy and Becky the bathroom is disgusting. Sharing it with you is bad enough-“ Debbie had barley finished her statement before Lip was down Ian’s throat again.</p><p>“What did I just tell you? Fucking not over compensating my ass, huh? You’re gonna leave the cleaning, the house is fine and you’re gonna chill. Take a stroll over to Mandy’s maybe even fuck off with her for a while and you’re gonna chill. The fuck. out.” He asserted, Lip’s propensity for being wise starting to show. “Deb’s make sure he eats something with his pills, last thing we need is him shitting himself.” He finished pointedly, jumping up the stairs with haste. </p><p> </p><p>Debbie breaks the silence. “You been feeling a little jittery lately? You know he’s just looking out for you.” She grins though her eyes covey the concern she doesn’t express. </p><p>Ian offers a tired smile. “Like I told Lip, been feelin’ shittier than normal past week. Blame the heat.” He doesn’t say </p><p>She nods expecting Ian to elaborate, when he doesn’t she speaks, mouth full of jam. “You know I was gonna hang with some friends later.”</p><p>Ian’s eyebrows raise, making his forehead wrinkle from where he leans over the kitchen top, his elbows resting with his phone in his hands. Mickey’s text him again, he’ll get to that in a minute. </p><p>“You’re point Deb’s?”</p><p>“I can ask them to go earlier, then I can help Kev out with inventory.” She starts, swiping the crumbs off her plate with her thumb. “I mean technically I could just make a number up. He won’t be there watching over me. Could even tell him it was you.”</p><p>“And why would you do that for me?”</p><p>“You scared the bitchy skanks off from the park when you picked me up last week. Got me some decent cred. Would make us even.”</p><p>“Debbie that was nothing you don’t—“</p><p>“Do you want an excuse to get out of unpaid time or not I won’t offer again.” </p><p>“Deal.”</p><p> </p><p>＊＊＊</p><p> </p><p>Ian saunters up to the Milkovich house an hour and a half later, Mandy’s jeans in one hand and half an egg bagel in the other. He knocks on the front door even though Ian knows it’s unlocked and waits. He hears footsteps heavy with intent, a grumble and finally the sound of the handle turning.</p><p>“Who’s it?” It takes Ian aback, Mickey’s the one to open the door, cigarette hanging from his lips. </p><p>“Just me.” He mutters, eyes darting to look at Mickey’s face. No black eye or scuffs to his surprise. Though his ensemble is classic Mickey, black wife beater and baggy jeans. Even in the heat the dude can’t bring himself to wear shorts.  </p><p>Mickey looks down to see what Ian has gripped in his hand. “Mandy’s not in. Just missed her, shes with some dude.” He runs his fingers through his hair and  coughs. Now leaning his body weight against the door frame. “She leave those at you’re place after you two had a quick  fiddle or what?”</p><p>Ian rolls his eyes, and smirks, “You look the same as usual, so guessing the drop went well.” The shorter man huffs, what Ian would take as a laugh, thumb brushing over the end of his eyebrow.</p><p>“Fuck you.” It’s drawn out and has no real bite behind it. Mickey smiles around the smoke and grabs Ian by the arm, drags him inside. “You didn’ answer my text from earlier Firecrotch.” He punctuates ‘crotch’ by kicking the door shut. </p><p>Ian nods. “Carl broke his arm, place was a mess and Lip was up my back.” Mickey walks ahead of him over to the kitchen, opens the fridge and grunts. </p><p>“Thought you was down the Alibi for Kev.” He states matter of factly, voice going up an octave. “Was gonna stop off there but looks like you saved me a trip.”</p><p>“Debbie vouched for me.” Ian throws Mandy’s shit down somewhere near the couch and slots the remains of his bagel into his mouth in one go. “Wa’so bic’ you hat-tu tes me?”</p><p>“Don’t talk with you’re mouth full man, shits gross.” Ian snorts, and joins Micky in the kitchen. Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up creasing his forehead the slightest, as his tone jokingly takes on a more affirmative tone. “Wanna try that again, Red?”</p><p>He coughs to clear his throat. “Said’ what was so big you had to text me?” Mickey rips open a packet of salami he’d thrown onto the counter and shoves a piece into his mouth, juts the packet in Ian’s direction, a silent ‘you want some?’ asked before he decides to explain.</p><p>“Wasn’t messing around when I said some weird shit went down when I was away.” His mouth is pulled into a tight line and the knife he was using to spread mayo on some moldy looking bread drops. It makes Ian’s back go straight as he gives Mickey his full attention.</p><p>“What’d you mean? Like you’re dad do some shit or the—“</p><p>“With me. Weird shit with me Asshole.”<br/>
He doesn’t speak for a while after that, Ian doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he looks around, listens. Waits for a floor board to creak or some one to go barge in and when they don’t—he slips his lanky arms around Mickey’s waist and rest his head on his shoulder.</p><p>Ian feels Mickey go tense, hunching in on himself. “The fuck you doin’, Shithead?” Turning his head slightly to catch Ian’s eye. He takes no notice and bows his head to breath in through his nose. Mickey huffs all over-exaggerated like and aggressively cuts his sandwich in half. “Fuck off.”</p><p>The ginger squeezes tighter when  Mickey doesn’t wriggle our of his grip.</p><p>“M’not a mind reader Mick, gonna have to elaborate on the whole weird shit thing, you’re sandwich looks great and all but I’m not one for cliff hangers.” He keeps his tone quiet, and level. Trying to make the other man feel comfortable enough to get this shit of his chest.</p><p>“You’ll call me stupid—or uh you know.” Mickey looks down, spinning his plate by its edge and doesn’t say the word. But Ian knows what he means and is grateful Mickey is just as touchy around the word‘ as he is. Doesn’t just throw ‘crazy’ around for no reason. So what ever this is must be serious shit.</p><p>“I would never think that, you know it too. Just, um I don’t um. Just know I won’t judge. Or anything.”</p><p>“You makin’ it sound like I’m coming out of some shit, fuck face.” Mickey’s eyebrow raise as he turns in Ian’s grip, chest to chest. </p><p>“You gonna tell me then Milkovich.” Ian smiles, close lipped but big and rubs his hands up and down Mickey’s back. Hoping to keep him in place.</p><p> </p><p>“I can move shit.”</p><p>“I mean. That’s Good. You into that like interior design or some—“</p><p>“With my hands Ian.”</p><p>“That’s how that stuff works Mick, what the fuck you on about.”</p><p>“With out touching it you fucking red haired bastard!” Shoving Ian’s chest Mickey looks pale, like he’s about to blow chunks evey where.</p><p>“Shit. Right. Ok.” Ian’s hands drop to his sides.</p><p>“You tell anyone I said that I’ll rip you’re balls off and replace you’re fuckin’ eyes with um’.”</p><p>“Tell me’ what you move shit with you’re hands? But don’t touch anything.” His voice raises slightly and before he knows it Mickey’s fucking cussing him out, his hands flailing out at Ian FUCK and U-UP making their appearance. The tension breaks when Mickey’s fuckin’ sandwich flys past his head and into the wall above the stove. Shitty porcelain scattering itself in a ten ton of directions.</p><p>Neither of them talk but their eyes go wide.</p><p>“What the fuck Mickey! You trying to kill me launching shit at me and—“</p><p>“I didn’t throw shit! Ain’t gonna do that to you’re freakishly tall ass Firecrotch!”</p><p>“Ain’t no one else here bitch!”</p><p>“I can move shit. Without touching it!” Mickey snaps. He sounds desperate eyes darting between Ian and the now smashed plate. His breathing was picking up and his hands were shaking like a leaf.</p><p>“Mickey, dude come on. Breath.”</p><p>“Nah-nah fuck you you man. Think I’m some fuckin’ loop  Makin’ this shit up, huh?”</p><p>Ian’s silence only pisses Mickey off more.</p><p>“Well fuck you very much asshole, I know I ain’t loosing my shit and that’s it.”</p><p>“Can you do it again.”</p><p>“Fuck if i know.” The two of them stand opposed from one and other unsure what to do next. Mickey’s cheeks are tinted red, though he doesn’t point it out, Ian assumes it’s from embarrassment.<br/>
“Don’t be a dick Gallagher.”</p><p>“Get angry.” The ginger states. Arms crossing over his chest after giving the smashed plate one more glance. “Maybe that’s what sets it off.”</p><p>“Sets it—asshole wanna start believe me now?” His voice miffed and his hands gripping the kitchen counter from behind.</p><p>Ian doesn’t reply simply flips him the bird and makes his way over. </p><p>“You’re a fuckin’ child you know that?” </p><p> </p><p>“No Mickey. I don’t think you understand, you’re the fucking child.” </p><p>He starts not sure wether what he’s about to do it worth it not. Starting a fight with Mickey for nothing is never a good thing, always ends with one of them more busted than necessary. “You’re vocab is any swear word under the sun and you have a bitch fit any chance you get!” Ian claims, finger prodding at Mickey’s bicep.</p><p>He continues. “You’re moody, you live off dollar tree salami and red jello. And you’re anger is through the roof you agitated little—“ </p><p>Ian’s eyes go wide, but he keeps his face straight, as every nick-nack sat out on an open surface begins to rise, the room slightly shaking. </p><p>“—and sometimes you won’t look at me because I try to hold you hand in public, you’re a grown ass man stand up—“</p><p>“Shut up! Shut you you dick! For fuck sake you’re mouth just goes on and on bout’a load a’ bull!” Mickey’s hands ball into fists. “Do you know what I’m fuckin’ riskin’ to be literally fucking you? No? No you don’t because Gallagher only ever thinks about his fuckin’ self!” Ian goes rigid as one of Mickey’s hands encircle his neck. “Next time you wanna talk shit about me, to my face, you make sure it ain’t under my roof, you Irish bastard.” He grits it out. Eyes popping out of their sockets. And the vain that only shows itself in Mickey’s fits of rage bulges when Ian huffs out a laugh. </p><p>Ian brings up a hand to try and detach Mickey’s own from his neck. “Look around Magic Mike, really is some weird shit, huh?” It’s raspy, but it’s still loud enough to slap Mickey out of K.O mode. The shorter mans grip loosens as he glances around the kitchen and then the living room.</p><p>Glasses, dirty dishes, spare change, fucking knifes, you name it. It’s in the air. Everything hovering off of the counter, off of the floor. The only two things grounded is Ian and Mickey. </p><p>Mickey’s breath shudders. Eyes going soft as he glances up at Ian. “Fuck.”</p><p>Fuck indeed, Mickey crushes his face into Ian’s chest. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His body going lax.</p><p>Ian jumps. As the couch drops to the floor, along with the T.V, the coffee table and the fridge. </p><p>“Holy fuck.”</p><p>“Some superhero coming of age shit right here.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well hey there! Hope you enjoyed the chaotic shit that went down, chapter two is on the way so stay tuned!</p><p>Again leave a comment if you loved or have something you’d love to see happen in the future. Opinions are welcomed I’m all ears.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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